Because I still haven't made up my mind of staying.

Loaded questions of 2014

Them: You know how you finally realized that women are a force of nature.....not even human. That force of nature that isn't bound to the confinement that many want to place.....well, what if you are just like that. What if you are that lightning that everyone is trying to capture and either people get tired trying and walk away or simply slander you with heavy shit to make you conform..... If you're a creature of chaos and you are doing your best to bring order to your life, have you ever wondered that you should just be a creature of chaos? Why do you have to change?

Me: Fuck you and drink....*knocks back agave as if it was liquid pain*

Just Barely.....

Geesh....finally.

In the meantime....

Please forgive my lack of posting. I promise to share much with you as soon as we enter January.

And yes, I'm doing quite well. Almost a bit too well. Just have patience with me and I shall return to my exhibitionist tendencies.

Just stay tuned and I shall indulge you as always.....mayhaps a bit more.

December

December is a hard month for me.

It's a month filled with so much bad history. Most of the shit that has hit me the worse has come from December. It's a month that claimed the lives of several mentors as well as taken the lives of a few friends. It's a month that I had my worst moments in life and the echos never seem to diminish. It's a month where ghosts of my past become stronger and they have their moments until I am able to survive till January. It's a time where my survivor's guilt is heavy and I question the thoughts once more that plague me randomly and I try to find what is it that has changed. I now realize that all my good deeds I attempt to do and all the love and kindness I give is used to help me this month. It helps me convince myself that I am making a change in myself and in anyone I meet. That in the end there will be people who will out shout the people who will condemn me for something I was, I try never to be, and what I work so hard to make amends to.

Or perhaps that is all in my head?

It's a month where everyone you meet feign concern, love, peace and kindness in the approved manner of giving gifts that have cost them much to people they have very little concern for. It's a month where everyone places a farce of caring and giving while the rest of the year is spent taking away and "getting mine". It's a time where hypocrisy is thick and I'm simply not the right person to fake anything I do not have simply because it will ruin a fabricated and highly staged moment with people who honestly have not kindness and warm regards towards myself or others. As if some unspoken rule that states that one must speak of the dead with kindness and love instead of stating what they had built with their hands in the same manner I'm supposed to wish someone well for hell they had wroth the rest of the year.

Sorry, I am not able to lie very well nor do I want to learn how to correct that. So I'm simply not on for the hypocrisy. I am not happy this time nor do I carry great hopes. I may seem normal, but I am not one to suffer in public not in open. I shout for those who have no voice, not to complain for what ails me since I know too well others have suffered more and seem to move on well. And yet, not I. Why do I always return here? Why am I hardest on myself and why do not ask for sympathy nor kindness this month.

....


I thank you for your kindness. I honestly do. I simply can not break down as you would expect because I am always carrying weight that must be held up. I appreciate the distraction and the ability to mayhaps laugh as if I'm fine for the moment. It's a hard month and I do what I can to survive it. Thank you for caring and thank you for pulling me in when I struggle to be let go. I'm not doing well and that is all me. Not a reflection of the kind and loving people who try to reach me. I have a horrible feeling that I will affect you with the hell that I am afflicted with and that would horrify me, so I do not reach out to you. I simply suffer through in silence and call it my penance.

And yet I will ask for help in the meekest voice hoping you do not hear so that I can know that I at least tried in a manner that I can say was an attempt.......a horrible one that is more of an excuse, but I count it anyways.

I'm trying. I really am. I want you to know that. I have good days and I have bad ones. Every day is a battle. I just try to do good, be kind, and love as much as I am able to while keeping my distance. I'm not asking for help. I'm simply explaining myself if you seem me particularly distant and cold. It's never you. It's all in my head. My circle helps. Alot.

Ok......I have to find motivation to move. I'll talk to you later.

Promise.

Shower Epiphany: When sacrifices survive

I've finally found the root. The reason why I never trust people, keep my distance and I constantly ask, "why are we friends".

I finally understand. Why I feel disposable, worthless, and suicidal in the way where I don't care what comes to end rather than taking my own life. I know why I'm dangerous and why I would rather exist like this than to live. Why I really do not see my value as anything good and my only penance is to do something good every day and to learn something I didn't know every day.

Why I value others more than I will ever value myself. Why I laugh when other think I should be crying. Why I look over my shoulder, trust no one, know that I'm only as valuable as my usefulness and even that will go away. Why I push hard, break myself against the world and why I do not feel pain.

I don't think I will last too long if I keep this up. And so I'm trying to change. Never for my sake, but because I have a hunch people need me for a bit longer. To be honest, if it was up to me I'd would have left a long time ago. I'm just that fucking stubborn and it's what others would have wanted me to do.

So only on my terms. For now, only on my terms.

Please don't give me any more interventions or tell me how I matter to you. They're not helping. I have to work through this alone.

You can not save the dead. There is not purpose.

.....

Oh.....and I know YOU are reading this somehow.

I'm not going to help you.

If you want to "do that" to me, I'm going to fight you tooth and nail. I'm going to fight you until I can not fight anymore, even if it's what I want the most.

I'm not going to make it easy for you.

I hate you that much.

Shower Epiphany: A response to "there is no difference" or "there is only an illusion of choice"

People who usually say that "there is no real choice" in  regards to voting or other social activities that dictates over the lives of others are usually the people who do not benefit in the action or are not effected in any negative way. They are not to be trusted, especially in this regard. For the same people that speak about planed demise of democracy or the illusion of choice are the same people who would never understand how grave the consequences or the rewards that may affect and afflict people and do not suffer from socially constructed bias and privileges. So instead of asking them, "what do you have to lose" ask them "what is it that you do not gain?"

Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Twenty one: Plowed

I've been difficult getting to this point.

When something like this happens it takes all the momentum out of me leaving me the fetal as if the air has been knocked out. Social obligation is one thing, but add death into the situation and its twist of the knife that makes things worse. I've spent the entire week sitting and staring at the walls. I know I have so much to do now and the more I feel the pressure of what I need to do and the added pressure that this week has collected I can not help to not have the drive to do anything. These are the moments where I ball myself up and simply stop. Staring at the clock as the minutes tick away making the situation worse with everything that makes me viable screaming in my head to get up and get moving. Just watching minutes tick away as I sit and feel the pressure crush me slowly. Painfully, making everything worse than it can be all the while my mind screaming.

It's a feeling I would never wish on an enemy.

Will I wake up

Is it a dream I made up

No I guess it's reality

I've been trying to recover from the wake, funeral and the aftermath of my grandmother's death. I've stated already that I'm not only to handle death well. Much less social occasions that demand me to be passive and openly and completely friendly to people who in truth have nothing to offer outside of their own ideals of who things are and should be. Being placed in a room where everyone is grieving more than I could and telling me to be brave has not only made me doubt in my own human potential, something that is not very hard to do, but also made me a bit more of an outcast since I didn't throw myself on my grandmother's casket. I don't see a problem since my maternal unit was doing that to the point of Oscar nomination all the while I had to be retethered to her once more. So it's quite a scene that someone who is deeply reflecting the passing not only of their grandmother, a person who I used have all to myself until the birth of my cousins, but a sad and tragic reminder that we lost an entire generation now and we all have moved up to a certain position in the cue that we all will pass on one day.

Like I said, I don't do death well. I'm just lucky I didn't tell my maternal unit that we need her off the cross since that nice naked rabbi is complaining about him being upstaged. Being tossed into social even usually demand me to prepare for the moment ahead of time, collecting patience and solitude for the noisy event where many people would stare at me for just being involved. Here I was pretty much up front if not as the man who lost his loved one, but as the man who is pulled around by a screaming and emotional woman whose every other word was, "This is my son" between new dose of crying and torment. And that is just one relative.

In truth, we all have our different ways to deal with things and in truth I'm happy with mine....sort of. I need time alone in silent reflection. It's something that I need simply a moment of time and yet it's time that I don't get. I feel as if I am in the center of a chaotic universe where I have to spin plates or be that only power source to so many machines when all I want the most is to recharge. I've been doing that for the past 8 months now. Taking time to reflect, think and most importantly escape an environment that is in all way poisonous to me since I can not conform to the demanded and sanctioned behavior and if I'm not going to act that ways I am ostracized as much as a monkey in a zoo that is constantly on watch and pointed at. So I have to be vocal all the time, even if I want to be silent. I have to live in a whole where I have to mentally and intellectually shank or be mentally and intellectually shank, even if there is no need. I'm not that kind of person. I'm not a hostile person despite of how threatening I look from afar.

And in the end, that is what it's all about.

What will change us

Or will we mess up

Our only chance to connect

With a dream

I'll try to explain since most people do not understand the whole "worn battery" idea. Imagine you are cold and wet in a damp and dark cave. You are given wet matches and then told to your horror that you are in this cave with eight others. Three are already going to die from exhaustion, cold and plain misery. There is nothing you can do to stop that. What you can do is to light a fire to ensure that the remaining others will be warm and may be able to survive. So.....have at it!

It's what I've been trying to convey in a nut shell. Imagine already not being in a good position yourself and you have been deemed the last chance of others who are just as cold and miserable as you. Then you are told that despite your actions you are already failing and all you can do is to save the others with the limited and quite possibly ruined resources.

No pressure at all.

I'm buried by the sound

In a world of human

Wreckage

Yea.....that is my everyday. That is how I walk around constantly. I have a sense of dread that if I don't shove the evil at bay I will lose a day that is not only denied to many, but also is against me. Sad pat is I already knew where this comes from. My maternal unit lived a hard life. She took charge of her family at the age of 10 or so with the death of her father. Since then she had to raise and support her two other siblings and her ailing mother. That's already a shit situation, but add on abuse, horror of children raising each other, and the regular ordeals of what life can drop on you.

Mind you, I already come from a line of survivors. Both sides of the family, but my maternal unit's side is filled with dread, pessimism, and anger. Survivors are strong individuals who have been forced to sacrifice something dear to them in order to make it through and they are the best people to have when things go shitty. Survivors in fact thrive when things are shitty. And yet, that is their undoing. Survivors do not have the ability to live life. They can not move on. They are constantly in a state of post trauma that forces them to constantly crave chaos in order to continue in their existence. I'm not saying that they can not live a life. I'm saying that they lack hope that is needed to relax, close their eyes and know hell will not be back. They constantly know that hell is creeping up close and soon and ready to pounce. I've lived my 20's this way. This is why my battery is dying.

This is why I've pondered with taking my life. I could not see me struggling through an existence where this view was and always is guaranteed.

This is hell.

I'm lost and I'm found

And I can't touch the

Ground

So saying this much I've tried to see what is my own fears and what was given to me as fears. SO in separating fears from my own, shared and inherited I've come to realize that I've been living a role that I never wanted to live. A role where I am antisocial, withdrawn and never trusting of others. A role where the closest to me are always assumed that they will hurt me the most. Where I will  never have a private moment and where I close the blinds to the outside world. A life where I do things best on my own because I can only depend on my own limitations and abilities even if I am overwhelmed and failing. A life where I seek not enjoyment from drugs and alcohol, but numbness. A state where I can function my given duties handed  to me from others, know why I am of value to others from what I can do for them, and a constant pursuit not to worry what is going to get me next. Even my writing is my desperate attempt to document my struggle if only to demonstrate to others that I did not go down easy.

So to say that I want the ability to sit with another human being and interact with them in a manner that so many simply assume as normal. When strong enough I venture into crowds and busy gathering where I can feel lost and simply people watch or in small doses interact at limits. Moments where I do not desire sexual gratification from others but just a pleasant conversation. Where my fondest and tender moments where of me laying my head on a soft lap feeling that world can never harm me. Where a few drink of quality alcohol and a strong painkiller will numb me to the worry of where I am and who I am and actually give me small respite to simply be.

Yes, I have to drink to get there. Sadly it's not good for me nor am I able to get the same effect since my tolerance .....amazing.

And yet, I have this list of things. This hallowed and secret listing of goals and activities that I plan of doing one day as soon as I build up enough nerve and confidence that the sky will not fall, life does not need me to intervene, and the men in black will not swarm me from the shadows to take me away from the outside world permanently. Yea, I'm joking...kind of....and I'm making this funny....kind of, but my humor is powered by anger and worry and I know that if I don't make an attempt for something more I will become disattached once more and I will not care.  And once I don not care, I know my time is going to run out. So my entire motivation now is to change that behavior and make an attempt to live rather than survive.

Imagine that. A life without chaos.

To see wide open

With a head that's broken

Hang a life on a tragedy

And in doing so I've walked a dog religiously. That small act has done so much for me since it's enough demand on me while being light hearted. Animal have always offered a simple and kind view on what is and what is not. They like you or they do not. They show affection freely and make their needs simple and obvious. They do not plot and if they do it's on the level of a belly rub and another scrap from you plate. I don't fear them nor will I ever. In fact, I've passed by several along my walks only to wave at them is a manner as you would a person while diverting my gaze away from smiles and attention of people. And yet, I force myself into at least 5 minutes of small talk. I help another person out once a day minimum. I smile at someone once a day. I try to be people.

And yet.....I know deep down that I will never be people.

And yet, why not?

I've just started to crack my text book and yet I can not concentrate to even look at the book. I do not have the drive. I just sit here and somehow try to make myself.....will myself to move. To get going. To move. To get moving. If I stay still too long I'm just going to stay this way and I'm not going to do anything but sink. I need to get up. I need to move. I need my drive back I need to get up, face the fucking world one more time and shove it's stupid face back. I need to pay it back. I need to put the fear of me back into it and make it shudder the next time it can think it can pull this kind of crap on me and at this kind of time.

And slowly I start to giggle.

I told you I don't do death well.

Plow me under the ground

That covers the message

That is the seed

There was a time once where my tears flowed so easily and flowed heavy. There was a time where I realized that there was no way out. No way that I can find. The only way out was to expire and I was already on that road fast. There was a time where my heart hurt and screamed at the pain that I've endured. Some consider it my crucible moment. Others call it the moment I became the worlds biggest asshole. I see it as the moment where I cried my last. Where my face shown the cuts and bruises of another's anger and rage that I never caused and yet some how ended up inheriting it. A time where I grinned like a manic, self aware that nothing was right and yet powerless to do anything against it. Someone caught up in a loop of stupidity and suffering that only the sheltered and inexperienced can deserve. Some one with soft hands, feminine frame and a weak mind. Someone who was the butt of the joke, deserving of the mistreatment of the world, a shell of privileged brat who some how believe that from those he trusted that it was all the worlds method of correcting things.

It sucks being someone's sacrificial lamb, or scapegoat more like it. To hold their anger and fears for everything that others have wroth upon them on the scarred skin that he now carries. A gimp knee that reminds him of what a delusional view of loyalty and love can cause. What a great sense of guilt can permit. Tears flowed and a mind that begged the havens for the aid that many claimed and yet never had come. I've cried so many tears that I had no sense of shame from the constant ridicule and mockery that I somehow believed was mine by right.

And yet, in my worst moment I finally understood. It all hit me and it made me realize that even if made to suffer there is a way to taint the victory. To spoil the spoils and make others pay even when you have lost. In that moment I realize that while there is a Stockholm syndrome there is also an opposite mind set where no matter what is tossed upon you there is a way to steal that sweetness of suffering from your tormentors. If their motives is to make you suffer you deny them. You take that away. You declare it mute and you reverse it. You put the fear back into them that they finally pushed you too fucking far. And so, I started to giggle.

Get hit, giggle. Mocked, giggle. Called worthless, giggle. Spit on, giggle. Kicked around and bleeding from the mouth, giggle. You will not take another tear from me. You will not make me cry. You will not make me weep or morn or fall into sorrow. Giggling is empowering. It's the last thing that you expect to hear in the worst situation and yet I learn to giggle. Moments where I wanted to lament I used that anger and twisted it. I drove that pain inward and make it my fuel. I started to grin not to show happiness, but to show promise of  what I will return and what I will do to make things even. I would not get mad, I would put fear into people. I would scare them by not feeling anything they unleashed and yet once pushed too far, I giggle.

 After a time I pushed my body to endure pain. Pain is.....delicious after a while. Its fuel. It adds into my drive and makes me understand that things will happen soon. I will turn the tables and chase people away with their own fear. I will make them wonder if I am behind them and use their sense of fear to instill guilt. My face would be that reminder. That scar....those scars would remind me. That knee that would force me to walk with a cane at a slow pace and yet that drive to shove past anything.....everything that is dumped on me. No one believe I can push through? No one is willing to believe in and and have placed bets against me? Good. Do it. Give me that anger, hatred, and pain. Think I can't take it? I thrive on it. Survivors have a sick way of thriving on shit and strutting through hell. Survivors grin and make others smile and take photos and share their suffering in a sad attempt to feel better about their own lives and to say good thing it happened to them and not me. Other say stupid shit like, I could not live if THAT happened to me....in your face....after you lived it.

Pain is yummy.

And yet, survivors can not live. They must survive in that hell to continue as fish would to water. Peace and an enduring sense of enthalpy frightens us and makes us wait for that shit to hit the fan and lose time and life waiting for it to hit again and again and again. We don't live. We survive in the worse situations. We thrive in them. And me thriving was turning my tears into giggles. And with that I giggle. Not an acceptable behavior, but when have life ever been acceptable to me? Anything to shrug off the hell and start moving so that I can roll with the punches. Anything so that I can start moving.

But I'm not moving. I'm still. I'm staring at the clock and still. I'm letting time bleed on and I have to move. And so I start to drag my stupid as on a run. A long one with hills up and down. Something that will shock me and force me to keep moving. Something that will make my entire body hurt from the inactivity of close to a month. Something to make me feel pain. I need that pain to hurt. As much as I wanted that sense of numbing when I wanted to live I need to feel that pain.

I need to giggle.

And so, I've been giggling here and there. I've been forcing myself to move. Move or die. It's as evolutionary as I can get.

Get your worthless ass up and get moving. You have the world to deal with.

And so, I'm almost there. I'm almost there and giggling.

Just don't ask me how I'm making myself to giggle.

I'm plowed into the sound